Chapter 1 #2
She had put her new life away in a drawer in order to care for her parents, for the farm, for the aging house that was all she had left of her family, and by day’s end, she barely had the energy to care for herself.
So if some pushy spirit had suddenly decided to take care of her, it was a strange and unsettling feeling.
“You must call a doctor,” Shiver repeated, knowing he ought to keep his mouth shut.
Clara shook her head, and the golden swirling fireflies were back in front of her vision.
“No doctors,” she said again.
Shiver crossed his arms, staring down at the pale human girl, twisting up her bed sheets and—damn him—looking so fetching in practically nothing, that soft cotton nightdress hitched up to her thighs, just barely covering places he was aching to see, dipping low across her small breasts with only the most tantalizing hint of a pale curve, the gentle peak of a nipple.
Why was his mouth watering? He didn’t know he could do that.
“Then you need sleep,” he said, trying to remain focused. He ought to be keeping her awake, fanning the fever into an inferno—and yet that only made his mind sink deeper into thoughts he needed to banish.
“Yeah, that’d be th’ berries,” she said around a groan. “How?”
Shiver felt something creeping up his spine, a burning sensation, a tingle, a pain.
Lustful thoughts ran unbidden through his mind like a naked parade of imps, carrying banners that said, “Fuck her! Fuck her now!” As a demon, Shiver was not built to deny his baser instincts.
He knew he could give her the best sleep of her life.
But something pulled him ever so slightly back.
Not far enough back, it seemed, to stop him from feathering his fingers across her hot cheek, slipping them down her throat where he could feel her pulse against his fingertips, dipping boldly down her chest where he teased the curve of a breast, so perfectly small he could fit them both in the palm of one hand.
Clara sighed, rolling her body closer to that soft breeze of a touch. That tingle it sent through her was... so nice. Like a cool autumn wind.
Twentieth hell and all its gargoyles, thought Shiver as he froze at that sound, that sinful movement of her body, every edible curve moving in just the right way to make him hurt.
“Is that... nice?” His voice was even lower now, the growl of a predator in warning.
“Nice,” she said, lying still so it might happen again. The open window, the night breeze, the radio downstairs—or the ghost in her house—all seemed to be soothing her burnt and bruised mind, pressing a cool balm to her skin.
Shiver did not like to decline an invitation from a lovely woman.
He slid his hand down to press against a breast hidden from him by the thinnest whisper of cotton, and he gently squeezed, circling her raised nipple with his thumb.
Clara’s breath hitched, and though more heat rose to her face, she wanted more of that tingling sensation that pulled her away from the pain.
Shiver watched her face for any sign of discomfort or fear. He squeezed just a shade harder, holding back his own sighs and groans at the sensation of this delicious body practically surrendering to him, a thin barrier between the black smoke of his fingers and the flushed skin beneath.
“Beautiful little one,” he rumbled, pinching the tip of her breast and watching her pink lips part as she breathed harder. He should be doing his job, but... perhaps, he mused, pestering her might count.
He bent over her, looming above her bed like a great crow made of smoke and pain, and closed his lips over her nipple, still tucked safely away from him in its cotton shroud.
Keep your hiding spot for now, sweet little thing, he thought as he licked and sucked at the soft tip. I will find all your secret places.
Clara was in a haze of pleasure and burning, hardly even able to open her eyes to the wall of black surrounding her.
She had never been touched like this—one of the staff writers had put a hand on her knee at a party, but after she spilled her drink in his lap, the relationship fizzled.
In fact, it had been over a year since Clara had been touched at all, barring the occasional nuzzle of a barn cat or accidental hand bump from the postal clerk.
Shiver was not a patient creature. He had already been watching the girl for days as he gained strength, keeping to the edges of her property.
He had wanted her from the first, and now she was right there beneath him, hot and shaking and making those irresistible sounds, nothing between them but this thin slip of fabric, no thick, restrictive brassier that he could never penetrate.
His fingers found their way to the dip behind her knee, tickling upward across the inside of her thigh where she was softer than a cloud.
The hem of her nightdress brushed the tips of his fingers, and he paused there.
He was teasing them both, asking himself how far he dared go while she waited for the touch of a thing she didn’t believe in.
“Mmm…please,” she said in a moan so soft it might have been the wind, the creak of the barn door, a lonely owl.
Another half inch, and his fingertips found her panties, pressing gently against them to test, to examine.
Was she already wet? He could feel it against his fingers, and something took over his whole body, a raging creature, snapping at its chains, desperate to be free to tear into this lovely flesh.
“I shouldn’t, honey,” he said around a pained groan, though he didn’t take his hand away either.
“Please,” she whispered again. “It hurts.”
Oh dear. Oh no. Now you have me. The thought tumbled through the shadow’s mind even as his body sprang into motion.
With a low rumble that might have been distant thunder, Shiver pressed his fingers between her thighs, making circles against the fabric that was growing wetter.
“Then open up for me, little one, let me look,” he said.
He didn’t wait for her—long tendrils of smoky darkness uncurled from him, prying her legs apart so he could drink in the beauty between them. Gods below, she was a temptation. He pressed a kiss between her thighs before letting his tongue flick out to find her swollen clit.
Clara gasped, her eyes snapping open. In a brief moment of awareness, she looked around in the dark for... what? What could possibly be making her feel these things?
“Relax,” Shiver rumbled that low voice against her, another long tendril reaching out to ease her back onto her mattress before stroking its way down to her breast. “You just rest. I’ll help you get to sleep.”
Was he helping her, or himself? In such a moment, he didn’t dare stop to ask. He hooked his fingers around the top of her panties and pulled them down slowly, relishing the shush of the moving fabric and the tiny sounds coming from his little human.
Spreading her legs a bit wider, he couldn’t help a low groan as he watched her petals opening for him.
He had never seen such a delicious thing in his uncountable years.
He brought his lips to her heat, stark black against flushed peach, and slid his tongue between her folds, a devious snake in a flower bed of unspoiled sweetness.
Clara shouted, clapping a hand over her mouth. Even in her fever, she knew that no one was near enough to hear her, and yet she felt... was it shy? That couldn’t be.
Shiver smiled against her flushed skin, both at that sound and at her adorable instinct to hush herself. He would have to work a little harder.
His tongue wriggled deeper inside her, stroking and teasing out secret places while he massaged her softness with his lips.
Had he ever tasted a human before they fell?
He couldn’t remember. Her sweetness was intoxicating, and he was ravenous for it.
Spreading her folds open with his thumbs, he pursed his lips around her clit, sucking and stroking with his tongue.
The tendril at her breast slipped under her nightdress and found her nipple, pinching carefully, as if she were a delicate little flower he was coaxing open. And wasn’t she, after all?
Clara writhed against her mattress, hand firmly clamped over her mouth, as waves of pleasure smacked her from below over and again.
Her body was shaking, clenching up, sizzling with this tension she had never felt.
Something was grabbing her between the hips, something very big, and she could feel the sensation growing.
Whatever it was, it felt far bigger than she could survive.
Shiver moaned now without shame as he tasted her, his probing tongue patiently examining every inch of her pretty folds.
He was making her cry out like that; he was giving her these lovely sensations for the first time.
He had always been a selfish creature, and yet in this moment, his one concern was her, caring for this darling little spitfire under his hands, giving her burning body what it needed.
She couldn’t handle the full length of his tongue, not quite yet—he could feel her nerves, her tightness, that fear that threatened to edge out her thrill—and certainly she could not handle what he really wanted to give to her, something far longer and far harder than his gentle tongue.
He could wait. He could taste her until the sun rose.
Clara began to thrash as the pressure grew. She could feel it building and grabbing at her, clutching at her hips, her stomach, her chest, her throat, until it burst from her in a wail that might have sounded like agony to anyone outside the room.
When at last she collapsed against the bed, she had the vague notion that someone was pulling her panties back up to her hips and wrapping her in her bedsheets.
“Sleep,” whispered Shiver, and he watched her until she did.